A/N: Playing through DAII, it drove me crazy that a humorous Hawke didn't seem to take things seriously enough during the first part of All That Remains. So here's a shamelessly angsty, love-triangle, take on it. Hawke can't joke away everything, after all.

Desperation: Hawke

White lilies. White lilies.

She had to run. She was tearing through Hightown, feet slapping the ground. She was still wearing the comfortable clothes she only had on when in the estate. The genteel slippers weren't meant for running, and her heels were slipping in and out of them.

Not Mother. Please, not Mother.

Hawke could only think of getting to Anders. He would be in his clinic. She could find him, and then maybe track down Gascard. He had to have new information. Or old information. Maker, she would take any scraps he gave her.

"Serah Hawke!"

She ignored the voice. Some merchant packing up their wares in the sunset. Maybe someone needed help. She really didn't give a damn.

Hawke lost Bethany to death, Carver to the Wardens, and she wasn't about to lose her mother to a madman.

Her lungs were on fire. One of her shoes fell off, but she continued without a glance back. Gamlen, with all of his denial and painful ignorance, would probably be in Lowtown by now, hoping his sister would be there. But the white lilies. Those Maker- forsaken flowers. Her mother was going to be the next victim.

"It's Hawke!" A child's voice called as she found herself panting through Darktown's decrepit walkways.

She stopped, seeing it was a little boy she'd spoken with before—Harrison. Breathlessly, she squatted next to him. "Harrison, can you do something for me? I'll give you a few silvers tomorrow."

"Of course, Ser Hawke!" Harrison was looking at her with the adoring eyes that made her far too uncomfortable. He looked at her like she was some bloody hero, not a panting, terrified woman. "But I should tell you, you're missin' a shoe, I think. Did someone steal it?"

Hawke cracked a smile, though her chest was still heaving. "Must be so," she gasped. "We might have a notorious shoe thief on our hands. Harrison, I need you to go to the Hanged Man. Tell Varric to meet me in Anders' Clinic. Tell him it's incredibly important that he comes immediately, and brings anyone else with him. And you try to make it back here before dark." Hawke said quickly, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

"I can do that, Ser Hawke! I'll do it really quickly! I'm really, really, fast. You'll see," Harrison answered enthusiastically before bounding off.

Hawke ran the few more steps to the doors of the clinic before bursting inside.

Anders was going through a chest, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he greeted her. "Jemma, I was hoping you'd come by. I was packing up everything else so I can move completely in with you. I've been going back and forth so much…" He stood and turned to face her.

She found herself speechless, her heart pounding. What did she blurt? 'My Mother's been taken by a serial murderer'?

"Maker's Breath, Jem, what's going on?" Anders closed the distance between them in a few steps, taking her shaking hands, which were clammy and curled into fists, and encircling them with his own. She'd always marveled in how warm his hands were, his fingers interlacing hers when they had a moment to stop and talk. Now they felt like they were the only things keeping her from falling through the ground, her mind swimming, legs weak.

"The man who Gascard was trying to get to—the one who's been taking the women. I think he has my mother." Hawke felt the hair on her arms rise as she finally voiced her fears. A shiver ran through her body.

"What?" Anders' eyes searched her face. "Are you certain?"

Hawke shook her head, panic still rising in her chest. "She's missing. I know she's been seeing some mysterious suitor for a while now. I didn't… I didn't ask her who it was. Never saw him. But he gave her white lilies, and the damn things are sitting back in the estate. If it's him… If he has my mother…"

Anders squeezed her hands gently. "We'll find her. We might need a little more muscle with us, though, if we're going after this monster."

"I sent someone to get Varric, and hopefully whoever else was at the Hanged Man." Hawke rested her forehead on Anders' shoulder, breathing in the smell of healing drafts. Her shaking had subsided, and she could think more coherently now. "I should look for Gascard in the meantime."

"We should get you some shoes. You're not even armed." Anders pulled his hands away and stepped back after kissing the bridge of Hawke's nose. "There's a pair of boots in the trunk over there," he gestured toward the edge of the room. "The patient… won't be needing them anymore." He said grimly.

Hawke kicked off her useless satin shoe and pulled fraying boots on instead. Her right foot was bloodied from stones and splintered walkways, but she was grateful she hadn't stepped on something that could've impaled her.

The boots were a little too big, but they would work. "I can do without daggers tonight. I don't care if anyone sees me using magic. I'm going to kill everything and everyone who's working with that bastard." Hawke spoke over her shoulder.

Anders was putting healing potions into his bag. "I can't argue with you there," he muttered as Hawke finished lacing the boots as tightly as she could.

"I'm going to find Gascard."

"Jem, wait." Anders called to her. "The others will be here soon. Gascard could be dangerous."

Hawke stopped in the doorway. Her heart rate had slowed, but her palms were still sweaty. She could see Bethany, the ogre bashing her body against the rocks, the crunch of bones and splatter of blood. Her last view of Carver, dragged away by the Wardens, his last look of fear.

"Dangerous? Sounds like an average Thursday." Hawke managed to say, though she was sure her voice wavered. She tried to turn again, but Anders caught her wrist.

"Please." Anders said quietly, golden brown eyes holding her own.

"I can't be too late." Hawke croaked. She forced a smile. "You know how I take pride in my punctuality. Never a moment late to kill a bastard."

Anders refused to let go of her. "Jemma."

Hawke felt a lump forming in the back of her throat. "If I miss this appointment, it could ruin my reputation. Assholes might think they can start showing up late to ambushes as well. Kirkwall would fall apart."

She knew Anders could see past her stupid jokes. And maybe it was the tears she could feel forming in her eyes, as well. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, holding her to his chest.

Her hands curled around the fabric of his shirt, and she tried to steady her breathing, to swallow away the feelings that threatened to break through her jester's mask. She'd cried three times since she was forced from her home in Lothering.

Once for Bethany.

Once for Carver.

Once when Fenris left her.

She wouldn't cry again. Because her mother couldn't leave as well. Her mother couldn't be gone. She couldn't lose anyone else.

Hawke thought she'd be better at losing people by now. She started learning young, with her father. But though she could better hide the hurt, it wouldn't go away.

"They'll be here soon, sweetheart. Just a few moments. Let's get everything together." Anders smoothed stray pieces of Hawke's black hair away from her eyes, strands falling loose from her ponytail.

Hawke nodded, forcing herself to let go of her death grip on Anders' tunic. He was the only one who had seen her beyond the jokes and teasing. It made her scared. Vulnerable.

She began corking healing salves and handed the little bottles to Anders, moving about the clinic methodically, rolling bandages, placing them in Anders' bag.

"Hawke, care to tell us what was so important I had to stop in the middle of my game of Wicked Grace?" Varric's voice asked from the entrance to the clinic. He had an eyebrow raised.

"Sorry to interrupt, Varric." Hawke answered, though she saw he had brought Fenris, of all people, with him. Her stomach dropped. She'd hopped for Isabela, and maybe on the off chance, Aveline. But not Fenris. Merril was there, too, overlarge eyes blinking at Hawke in anticipation.

"You were losing, Varric. Badly." Fenris said in his quiet, deep voice. It twisted Hawke's feelings to hear it. "It was hardly a tragedy for you to be pulled away."

"The boy made it very clear that it was quite the emergency. What is it this time? Did someone steal Isabela's pants again?" Varric drawled.

"I wasn't aware that Isabela even owned a pair of pants." Hawke retorted. The banter came easily, and she avoided looking at Fenris in the eye. "We have trouble. I think the killer we were tracking has taken my mother. We need to get to Gascard." Her voice was blunt, direct.

Varric's good-natured smile vanished. "Are you sure, Hawke?"

"Oh, no." Merrill said softly.

"More sure than I'd like to be, Varric." Hawke tried to keep her voice light. "Gascard should be in Darktown. If he can lead us to this murderer, we can take him down."

"Let us go then, Hawke." Fenris put in, his expression dark.

Hawke led the group out of the clinic, Anders by her side, Varric, Merril, and Fenris behind them.

Please be safe, Mother. Please. I can't lose anyone else.